


The Nature of Light

by maerisk



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blindfolds, Blood, Blood and Injury, Choking, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Masochism, Porn With Plot, Pre-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Reader-Insert, Self-Harm, Shameless Smut, Submissive Kylo Ren, The Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maerisk/pseuds/maerisk
Summary: After sensing in you something dark and feral you've had trouble admitting to yourself, Kylo Ren approaches you and asks you to assist in his training. You realize you're more than eager to help him and explore this side of both of you.Sub!Kylo Ren





	1. Cynda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is crazy. He’s crazy. You know you could run. A kick to the groin and you could be at your blaster in 2 or 3 seconds. But there’s something keeping you here, and it’s not physical restraint. You, despite all reason, don’t feel threatened by him. He’s powerful, yes, you can see it plainly. But you’re instinct isn’t fear -- it’s attraction. Like moth to a flame.

This has been a strange week. You were visiting a friend on Cynda, thinking you’d maybe visit a few days and then pick up supplies for a project at home. You certainly hadn’t expected a regiment of Stormtroopers landing and scorching the the land around you, pushing people around by the muzzles of their blasters.

But here you are, watching it all from the middle of a merchant circle where you now stand. There is a man with him, clearly in charge of this sweep -- human, most likely, or some variation thereon, and tall, in a dark mask and cloak. A tad dramatic, you think to yourself, but the way he walked around the small village is commanding, strong. You found yourself biting your lip as you watched his movements, knowing it was dangerous to stare, but unable to help yourself. You should be averting your eyes. You should be cowering.

You and the rest of the villagers, shoppers, and vendors had been lined up for some sort of inspection. A Stormtrooper frisked you, roughly but quickly. Of course they found nothing - you wanted no part of any mess here and had nothing to hide… whatever this was. You are just here visiting, not some Resistance agent undercover. You open your mouth and tried to explain, but a passing trooper told you in no uncertain terms that you were not to speak further.  The merchant you had been talking to when you landed though… you had your suspicions. On the other hand, you’ve seen what the First Order does to dissenters, and you wouldn’t wish it on a creepy merchant with no proof.

The tall man, Commander Ren --  you heard a Stormtrooper call him - - seemed unsatisfied with the cursory pat-down his soldiers had performed. You have heard of Kylo Ren - one of the darlings of the First Order, rumored to be more powerful in The Force than anyone in generations. You try not to stare too directly as he make his own inspection of the line. He scans the line by briskly, his feet kicking up the dry sand, and stops in front of you. You try to project confidence.

Suddenly, though, you feel a pang in your head.  _ What is this?  _ You panics momentarily at this uncanny sensation there are one too many thoughts in your head. Like two songs playing at the same time. Disjointed, but making it impossible to concentrate on either. You raise your gaze to the space on his mask his eyes must be behind. You tries to look strong. Unphased. You can see his chest rise and fall with each slow and deliberate breath as his mask stares you down. Your thoughts are clumsy now, tripping over the intruder in your head. You are starting to forget how to breathe in that way that only happens when you focus too closely on the mechanics of your body.

“This one,” he growls, his voice low and guttural like a beast, and just slightly distorted from the mask’s filter. The broken silence shakes you from your mental discord. 

The troopers grab you by the arms, but seemed to ease their grips when you came willingly. Up the gangplank and onto the command ship. It’s shaped like a giant bird with its wings up, mid-flight, inky black and beautiful in its own way. Much nicer than anything you’ve ever traveled in.

The ride from Cynda’s surface up to the star destroyer in orbit above is neither long nor bumpy. There’s a knot in your stomach, but you are sure it isn’t turbulence. It’s not fear either. It feels almost like anticipation. A graceful landing later and you’re deboarding into the hangar. It’s nearly impossible to hide your shock -- the hangar -- just one portion of this massive ship -- is bigger than you have ever imagined. You’ve never seen anything of this scale in your life. Your eyes have difficulty adjusting - things seem impossibly far away. 

After a Stormtrooper escorts you down what seems like dozens of identical corridors, the troopers leave you in a room, alone, with the door sealed. You’re still not frightened, but that telltale stomach knot has tightened, and you doesn’t know why. Are you not being held against your will by the First Order? Is this not cause for alarm?

The noise outside the door is what you would have expected -- mumbled voices, footsteps, the occasional muffled order shouted from another room. It smells sterile, and bright. Everything’s sleek and white or black or glowing. It’s quite the contrast from home, or Cynda. Must be nice to have the credits for straight lines, you think.

You hear footsteps outside -- heavier, more determined than the ones before. They slow as they approach, and then stop.

The door opens, disappearing into the wall. You takes a deep breath. It’s Kylo Ren, looking even larger and more imposing as he imperceptibly ducks to get through the door.

You reach instinctively for the blaster you keep hidden in your boot, but with a quick and casual flick of his wrist, you arms are pinned to your sides. Kylo Ren is close to you now, his mask inches from your face. Your heart is pounding. He smells like leather and something muskier, but not inorganic. It reminds you of winter at home.

As you’re frozen, your effort is spent trying not to struggle or think too much about his hold on you or how he’s accomplishing it without touching you at all. “Alright,” you say, “I’ll play nice.”  

He puffs out a breath and you’re release from the invisible bindings, but not before he’s reached into your boot, lingering for a moment, before pulling out your blaster. He tosses it backwards across the room, away from you both.

“Do you know why I’ve brought you here?” he asks.

“I can’t say I do,” you says, watching his mask futilely for any signs that would betray his motives.

“I felt something in you,” he says, “on Cynda. You have some of the Dark in you. You can help me.”

This is crazy. He’s crazy. You know you could run. A kick to the groin and you could be at your blaster in 2 or 3 seconds. But there’s something keeping you here, and it’s not physical restraint. You, despite all reason, don’t feel threatened by him. He’s powerful, yes, you can see it plainly. But you’re instinct isn’t fear -- it’s attraction. Like moth to a flame.

Of course that’s not what you’re telling yourself. Instead, you’re thinking there’s no reason you couldn’t learn what you can here, and sell the intel to The Resistance. Or maybe just enjoy the climate control and the lush surroundings for a little while. Maybe a job? The projects at home don’t pay enough to keep your stomach from rumbling with hunger most days. But how can you think that after some of the stories that have surrounded this man…

He reaches up a gloved hand and flips a switch on his mask. He pulls it off and drops it the helmet on a small shelf. It makes a deafening thunk.

His face shocks you. It’s not hideous or deformed as the stories have said -- It’s almost handsome. And so sublimely unlike the blonde hair blue eyed First Order soldiers you’re used to seeing on propaganda posters. He keeps his face stiff, his jaw set, but there is something in his eyes -- a glow of recognition. His features are strong, dramatic, and yet there’s something… quiet about him. Like there’s something bubbling just below the surface he’s desperate to keep there.

“You haven’t run,” he notes, matter of factly, one eyebrow slightly cocked.

You nod.

“Thank you,” he says. Is that relief in his eyes? 

You realize you’ve been holding your breath.

“I don’t know if you can be trusted,” he says, barely above a whisper, “but I think you can be.”

“Trusted with what?” you asks. He doesn’t meet your eye.

“Will you come with me,” he asks, ”willingly?”

This is crazy, you think. What are you doing here? What do they want from you? Where are your instincts? Normally in a situation like this they’d be screaming. GO. RUN. FAR FAR AWAY.

But you finds yourself nodding affirmatively. You do a mental inventory -- could this be some mind game where he tells you what to do? When you look -- really examine yourself, you know he isn’t. And yet you’re still surprised at your own actions. What you know you want. Just to satisfy your curiosity.

For a second, he softens. But then he clenches his jaw and looks at you hard, tilting his head to the side. You find yourself wishing for the mask again; his gaze is penetrating and difficult to meet.

“So why am i here?” you finally ask. “Do you think I know something? Because I don’t. I was just visiting. I don’t even live there. It was only -- ”

“I know,” he interrupts. You’re relieved. What you’ve heard of Kylo Ren is that he’s a ruthless interrogator. You wasn’t looking forward to being tortured for information you didn’t have. But you can’t let your guard down yet. Your eyes move to your blaster on the floor again.

He seems to see it in your eyes. “I’ve no reason to deceive you,” he says.

“What’s there left to do then?” you ask. “You’re saying I can just walk out the door?”

“Well, yes and no,” he pauses, and takes a breath. “The ship we’re on has jumped several systems since you boarded. We won’t loop back around to Cynda for another three weeks.”

You open your mouth to speak, but you know there’s no use protesting. It would have been half-hearted anyway.

“You will be given free roam of the ship while you are here, and provided your own quarters. If you wish, you will never see me again, and my crew will drop you back on Cynda in 3 weeks time.” The door open. You both look towards it, and you start walking. You are just about to step over the threshold when he speaks again.

“But you can help me. And I can help you.”

You scoff, and turn to face him. “I don’t think you have anything I want.”

His face flickers. Is that a smile? It’s gone before you can discern. “We both know that’s not true,” he says, and the door closes between you.


	2. Behind the Black Steel Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The First Order,” he says, “does not need your help.” You watch his jaw flex as he considers his next words. “Though it does deserve - and expect - your loyalty.” Could he know, somehow, about your half-hearted intel gathering? You weren’t even sure you were going to do it! You open your mouth to speak, but he continues. “But you have misunderstood. I am the one that needs your assistance.”

It’s not long before your routine on the ship becomes rote. Each morning there’s food delivered to your quarters. Not the greatest taste you ever experienced, but what it lacks in quality it makes up in quantity. Each day you wake, refresh, eat. You’re not used to having daily refresher access, either. This life doesn’t seem so bad. You sip hot tea as you watch ships come in for docking through the windows to your quarters.

You’ve been given First Order clothes which are surprisingly... breezy. And though you don’t see anyone else wearing anything similar (their uniforms are much less stylish and much more conservative) , you move amongst the crew without drawing any undue attention to yourself. Some lingering glances, here and there, but no one stares. You start to linger in doorways, allowing yourself to overhear conversations, casting out a lazy line for intel bites. You haven’t given up on selling intel back home yet.

It’s almost a full week before Kylo Ren visits you again. It’s evening of your sixth day, and when the lights blink on in your quarters he’s there, sitting at the small table where your dirty dishes are still sitting. He’s covered them with a napkin. You blush, a little embarrassed.

“Commander Ren,” you say, clearing your throat and trying to will the redness out of your cheeks.”

He nods at you. His hands are firmly planted on his legs, one on each knee. He looks like a deactivated droid - his movements nearly imperceptible. 

“I’m not speaking to you with the mask on,” you says curtly. 

He clicks the release and takes it off in one fluid motion. He holds it in his lap, like he wouldn’t deign to let it sit on the table with your flatware. Your eyes move from his gloved hands to his chest to his face. His jaw, always clenched. You wonder if he grinds his teeth in his sleep.. 

You take your time. Kicking off your boots by the door, you pad barefoot through your quarters. This is your home, for now, at least, and Kylo Ren won’t make you uncomfortable in it. You reach out a hand and pointedly take the dishes from the table. “I didn’t mean to be rude,” you say, “but I wasn’t expecting guests.” You flash him a close lipped smile, clearly insincere. 

“I can leave,” he says, simply, making no motion towards exiting. Has this man never had a human conversation before? Or is he simply used to getting his way?

You decide in a crazed moment to call his bluff. “Great,” you say, “I’m dead tired.”

He blinks and turns his face to you. He wasn’t expecting that, was he? The back of your neck prickles with thrill and pride. Not much of a power play considering you are still technically being held on his ship, but it was something.

He gets to his feet to leave. With his helmet tucked under his arm he rises and with two long strides he’s already halfway to the door.

“Wait,” you say, but you didn’t have a follow up for this. You just felt… guilty? But why? It’s not like you owe him anything -- you’re his hostage.

He stops. He turns on his heels back around to face you, but not like the stormtroopers you’ve seen. His movements are lithe. Graceful. Not mechanical. 

You swallow hard. “What did you mean, when you first brought me here? You said I can help you. Did you mistake me for somebody else? You know the blaster I carry is just for show and I haven’t been through any kind of training and I’m not a spy and I’m pretty loud and don’t blend in anywhere and…” Shut up, you think to yourself. Your mouth runs off when you’re nervous. 

You’ve realized he’s waiting for you to finish rambling. His eyes bore into yours. The stories of him you’ve heard flash into your head. This man has been responsible for the deaths of hundreds, maybe even thousands. That doesn’t seem like it could be the awkward, oddly proportioned person standing in front of you. 

…”I just can’t help the First Order. You have to understand,” the last words bursting out of you just before you can finally close the floodgates. 

“The First Order,” he says, “does not need your help.” You watch his jaw flex as he considers  his next words. “Though it does deserve - and expect - your loyalty.” Could he know, somehow, about your half-hearted intel gathering? You weren’t even sure you were going to do it! You open your mouth to speak, but he continues. “But you have misunderstood. I am the one that needs your assistance.” 

Well, shit. You realize your mouth has dropped open. You close it.  You’re trying to tell if you’re supposed to say something. He senses your distress and lets the silence hang for a moment longer than you can stand.

“I have reached a plateau in my training,” he says. Your mind is racing. Are you going to train him? You have no martial skills. He has to know that - he picked you up in a market shopping for exotic fruit. Is he going to use you for target practice? “I am powerful,” he continues, “more powerful than this universe has seen in generations.” Even through your panic, you have to remind yourself not to roll your eyes. “There are many means to power. Most of them based in strong emotion. Rage. Pain. Betrayal. Passion. Fear.”

You give him a sidelong glance. Are you dense? You still don’t know where he’s going with this…

He seems to read your confusion on your face. He takes a long stride towards you, and puts his hand next to your cheek, like he’s a inch away from caressing it. Or slapping it. You try not to flinch. “May I?” he asks?

“Uh, sure,” you eke out.

Just like that, your vision goes black. You know your eyes are open because you can feel yourself blinking, hard, trying to adjust. The feeling you had on Cynda is back -- there’s an extra voice in your head. Well, not a voice, a presence. You’re not alone in the only place you’re always alone. You decide to try something.

_ What are you doing?  _ You ask, wordlessly. What happens next is impossible to describe. Your life expands in front of you like a corridor, lined with doors. Most of the doors are open, and as you walk (without moving) down this hall, you peer into each as you pass. Most are innocuous enough - your first trip off world, your favorite birthdays, the day your little sister threw a rock at you that left the scar on your forehead. You’re moving forward with your eyes front, but you can tell someone’s behind you. You have to assume it is Kylo Ren, here, traversing your memories with you. 

You feel yourself unintentionally slow in front of one of the doors. This one, unlike the rest, is closed tight. You put your palm on the steel - it’s black and icy to the touch, and you quickly draw back. But then…

A gloved hand takes your hand by your side. He takes it in his, and raises it up. Presses it, palm first, against the door, his hand pushing against the back. Together, you push the door open.

As the vision clears, you begin to see the room in front of you. It’s empty, with the exception of two young men. They’re brawling, grappling with each other, kicking dust into the air. With a lightning movement, one of the men gets a drop on the other, and before you (or his opponent) knows it he’s straddling him on the ground, looming over his face and he’s bringing down fist after fist. Just when you’re about to cry out, the defeated man taps a hand on the ground and the victor lets up. He stands, and offers a hand up to the other. 

It’s only when the scene begins to fade that you realize your heart is racing. Your cheeks are flush and you feel… warm. Suddenly embarrassment hits you as you realize you’re not just full of adrenaline you’re… well let’s say you enjoyed it far more than you thought you would. And then you remember he’s there, too. Your stomach lurches.

Like coming up for air after nearly drowning, you gasp back to the reality of your quarters. Your rage moves in as quickly as your vision returns. “What was that?!” you demand, your voice cracking with anger.

“It’s what I saw in you. On Cynda. It’s how I know you can help me.” He breaks eye contact with you for a split second. “I’d only want a… physical arrangement.”

“Excuse me?!” you spit, “that’s not who I am!”

That almost-smirk flashes across his mouth again. “Are you sure?”

You swallow hard. This is crazy. He’s crazy. Right? You can’t bring yourself to throw him out.

“Think about it,” he says. Before you can close your mouth from the half-shock, you are alone in your quarters.


	3. Pacing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Startled, you jump back and pull your hand towards you as though it’s been scalded. Before you, in a dark room much like your own (except on a much grander scale) is a sitting room, its back wall a giant window looking out into the galaxy. Unlike your view of the dock where tie fighters and landers are constantly hovering, the view is black. Empty. Nothing but blackness and stars as far as you can see. And standing before that window is a silhouette you’ve already come to recognize.

You pace. There are only two clear pathways in your quarters and you’ve been walking so long you feel like you might wear a groove in the tile with your footsteps. It’s long after you should have been asleep, but your mind has been racing since Commander Ren left. You still weren’t exactly sure what he wanted from you, but you had your suspicions and those suspicions made you feel… Well, they made you feel a lot of things.

Disgusted was one of them. And humiliated. Every time you remember the vision he showed you, your heart skips a beat and a familiar warmth sweeps over you. Then the immediate wave of embarrassment. Him watching you watch those men fight each other and the effect it had on you. It wasn’t something you usually thought about unless you were alone in your bed, and usually only after a couple of drinks.

If you were being honest, it was something you already knew about yourself. But just like lots of other things you assumed people feel all the time, you knew it wasn’t something to talk about. Or act on. But the sight of the, busting, swollen lip, the blood trickling out. The vulnerability of that powerfully muscled man on the ground, completely at the other’s mercy. You liked it. You definitely, absolutely, positively liked it.

Maybe a walk would clear your mind. You know, one outside of your quarters.

You slip your boots back on and pull your hair back tight and open the door to your quarters. It’s late, and even on a ship where there’s always someone out and about, it’s quiet. You try to concentrate on the sound of your boots echoing through the empty halls, and nothing else. Not Cynda, not the last few days, not where you are or what Kylo Ren just showed you about yourself. What Kylo Ren showed you he knew already. You walk, timing deep breaths with each step. Breathe in deeply while you take three. Breathe out slowly while you take five. Watch the patterns of the overhead lights reflected off the floor. An old meditative practice you learned a few years ago from a funny old Gand that visited your village when you were a rebellious teenager. Your heart rate starts to drop. The breathing is coming easier. 

A noise from behind you shoots that adrenaline right back into your system. You spin quickly to look, instinctively bracing yourself,only to see a pair of Stormtroopers on a late night patrol of the hallway. You raise your hand and wiggle your fingers in a feeble wave. It’s only then you realize where you are.

It’s a corridor of the ship you’ve never been to before. And it looks just like the vision you had earlier. You blink. You’re sure this time -- this is real. 

The doors on either side of the hall are all closed, their chrome reflecting and warping your figure as you walk past each. Just a few more steps and… yes. It’s there. The black steel door.

You raise your hand and reach up to place it on the metal, but just as you do, the door slides open in front of you.

Startled, you jump back and pull your hand towards you as though it’s been scalded. Before you, in a dark room much like your own (except on a much grander scale) is a sitting room, its back wall a giant window looking out into the galaxy. Unlike your view of the dock where tie fighters and landers are constantly hovering, the view is black. Empty. Nothing but blackness and stars as far as you can see. And standing before that window is a silhouette you’ve already come to recognize.

“Come in,” he says, barely glancing over his shoulder. 

You take a deep breath and step over the threshold. The door quietly slides shut behind you and for the second time tonight you find yourself alone in a room with Kylo Ren. 

He turns to face you. For a moment, you just stare at him, trying to understand how you wound up here and what to say. 

“You’ve thought about my proposal,” he says. His confidence is starting to grate on you. But he isn’t  wrong.

“I have,” you say simply. You’re trying your best not to betray the frustration, the confusion, and all the other emotions whirring around your brain.

“And what have you decided?” he asks. 

You realize this whole thing sounds like a business transaction, which leaves a bad taste in your mouth. And there, you realize, is your advantage. You’ve haggled before, many times. He found you in a market, after all. “I have conditions,” you say with a smirk as you allow yourself to feel even remotely in control for the first time since Cynda.

“I am not accustomed to negotiations,” Kylo Ren says, but he doesn’t move from his spot. 

“I get to keep my own quarters.”

He nods, his face set, but you know you’ve thrown a ripple through his stillwater facade.

“You may request my presence, but not demand it. You will be respectful and follow my rules. And you will NOT,” you says pointedly, “share anything about our agreement with anyone else, even if they ask.”

“Is that all?” he says,  his cool returning. 

“And last, you will return me to my home as soon as I ask.”

“Agreed,” he says. 

“Oh,” you add, your confidence level rising, “no stupid helmet around me. I’m not talking to a droid.”

You follow his eyes across the room to a small squarish end table where the mask sits. 

You can tell Kylo Ren is not one onto whom others project rules. “Understood,” he says.

You feel emboldened.  _ There’s no turning back now _ , you think.  _ He wants you to to do this. And you want to. _ You feel as though a once very small part of you is now doing all the talking. The entire galaxy feels like it’s yours for the taking. So you start with what’s in front of you.

“Come here,” you say in your most commanding voice. 

The look he gives you is mostly one of surprise with just a tinge of indignance. You can feel your heart pounding out of your chest as he crosses length of the room and stands in front of you. You look up to meet his gaze. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. 

“Commander,” you say with a smile sprouting on your lips, “if I didn’t know better I’d say the mighty Kylo Ren was nervous.” 

_ Are you really doing this? _ You think to yourself.  __ His jaw tightens but he doesn’t speak. 

You steel yourself and prepare to dive off the deep end.

“Strip.” 

The word comes out of your mouth before you allow yourself to second guess. But just as quickly his hands are at his neck as he unclips his cowl and tosses it to the floor. You’re momentary wave of relief is chased by another of delight and anticipation. Likes staring into the mouth of a rathtar. But with another swift motion his hand is behind his head and he’s lifting his armor above and off of him where it joins the cowl in a pile. You try not to gasp.

Kylo Ren’s chest is… beautiful. Your eyes move from wounds to scars, all in varying levels of healing, some still bandaged, some sitting atop screaming bruises. Some far too small to be inflicted by any weapon the First Order trains or fights with. And then you start to take in the totality of what you’re seeing under the bruises. His broad shoulders are muscular and toned, his stomach and chest defined with smooth, clean lines. Your pulse quickens as you notice his skin has started to goosebump, reacting to the open air. He is human, after all.

He pulls his gloves off and steps out of his boots at once. He pauses as his hands move to his belt. You find yourself biting your lip so hard you think you’ll draw blood. He hasn’t looked you in the eye.

“Stop,” you manage to blurt. You’re not sure if you mean it, but you think it’s the right thing to do. His hands freeze, then return to his side. He finally raises his gaze to you. You’re watching his chest rise and fall. 

You try to muster all the authority at your disposal, or at least all you can fake. “Stay,” you say. 

You watch him for a moment, daring him to move. You’re not sure what you would do if he did. But he doesn’t. Like a statue, he stays motionless, his eyes watching you as you leave. And so you walk back to your quarters with a newfound confidence, having left Kylo Ren standing half naked in an empty, dark room.


	4. (Mis)calculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Commander Ren wishes you to join him in his quarters in two hours,” he says. He raises an eyebrow in judgment. “For training.” He leaves a long and significant pause, looking you up and down for any sign of athleticism and prowess. You know he’ll find none. “Commander Ren seems to have mistaken me for a messenger, which I most certainly am not.”

When your eyes open in the morning, you feel like you’ve only just closed them. You’d be lying to yourself if you thought you’d do anything today. Your mind is otherwise occupied with thoughts of Kylo Ren and his bare chest and his honey eyes and that nose you can already feel nuzzling up against you and… Well, you don’t plan to leave your bedroom today. You’re so embarrassingly entranced you’re positive everyone can see it on your face. And for what? Because this man is going to let you smack him around a little?

You reach your arms up and stretch them high, your muscles lengthening, your chest expanding. You feel every inch of your skin. You can feel the air in your lungs. You feel alive. 

You discard your sleep shift on your way to the refresher, your feet silently padding across the cool polymer. You start the water and slip your hand into the stream, waiting for it to get hot. A few seconds later, you step in as the room begins to steam. You bow your head to douse your hair, and then lift your face to it, feeling the spray hit your closed eyelids. You press one hand to the glass in front of you and lean forward, letting the water hit the nape of your neck, wash forward, and drip off your nose. 

And there, behind your closed eyes, you see him again. Kylo Ren stands in front of you in the room. He’s naked from the waist up, his muscles twitching, his skin coated in a light gleam of sweat. He’s breathing heavily. You watch his chest rise and fall. He’s been sparring. He looks weary, to the bone.

Just like that, he’s behind you, his hands grasping your hips and then moving slowly, achingly slowly, down towards your heat. Your hands -- his hands -- are a tease at first, barely grazing the surface of your lips before sliding back up to tease at your nipple. You let your hands roam down your torso, let them pool and drip the water as it cascades down your skin. You can feel every water droplet, and they’re all an extension of him, washing over you.

You let your hands roam, tracing the curves of your own skin long enough to feel the warm water growing cooler. While luxurious, the heated water tanks on the ship are small. You’ll have to move back to the bedroom if you want to finish before the all-too-literal cold shower. You turn the nozzle to stop the water and let yourself stand there for a moment as in your head, Kylo reaches for your hand. Yours feels tiny and safe in his as he leads you towards the bed. You know you’re being ridiculous, but you haven’t felt this way since you were a teenager, practicing kissing the back of your own hand.

You’re lost in his eyes, a bit, and the movement of his muscles under his skin as you follow him. You allow yourself to be lowered down onto the bed, your knees dangling over the side as he kneels on the floor in front of you.  You feel his hands again, on your thighs this time, his thumbs caressing the soft skin where your hip meets your leg and slowly inching closer to your center. You can feel his hot breath on your legs and you reach down to grab his hair and pull his face into you.

There’s a knock at the door to your quarters. A groan half mixed with a yelp escapes you in your surprise. 

You throw on your sleep shift as quickly as you can, make your way to the door and release the lock. As it slides open you get a glance of your reflection in its steel - your hair wet and uncombed, your cheeks flush. Not your best look. 

The man darkening your door frame is tall and not unattractive, but his face is fixed in a scowl. He’s dressed in a First Order blacks, a proper hat (not helmet) sitting atop a head of well-coiffed red hair. He looks you up and down with barely hidden contempt and disgust. He has a jaw you could cut meat on. He’s pale as a ghost.

“Commander Ren wishes you to join him in his quarters in two hours,” he says. He raises an eyebrow in judgment. “For training.” He leaves a long and significant pause, looking you up and down for any sign of athleticism and prowess. You know he’ll find none. “Commander Ren seems to have mistaken me for a messenger, which I most certainly am not.”

Whatever this guy is working through, you don’t want anything to do with it. There are a lot of stripes on his uniform. He’s probably pretty high ranking around here. And now he’s been sent to fetch Kylo Ren’s newest -- what are you, anyway? Suddenly you’re not sure which of the two of you has the worse end of this deal. What was this? A power play? If so, against who? You? Or this ratty looking officer giving you death glares?

“Anything else?” you manage to ask. He simply turns on his heels and marches briskly back down the corridor. 

The door slides back to closed. You cover your face with your hands. Was every day going to be filled with some fresh humiliation? Was any of this worth it? Could you just go home?

Exactly 1 hour and 59 minutes later you are raising your hand to rap on that black steel door once again. It slides open quickly with your touch and you step forward. 

Dressing had been difficult. You didn’t exactly have your nicest garb with you, or even much more than clothes chosen for their comfort for travel. You had settled on a black wrap shirt and a pair of tighter black pants that you thought made your butt look great. You don’t think that Kylo Ren is actually attracted to you so much as found in you a mutually agreeable arrangement, but if you were going to be bossing him around you might as well feel sexy AND powerful.

You tried to exude as much confidence as you can muster, through the open door. As you enter the sitting room - the scene of the little adventure last night, you notice nothing out of the ordinary -  with the exception of a door open on the right wall - it must have been closed (and mostly seamless) when you were here last night. Although you will admit to having been… singularly focused.

You move through the doorway, and stop. Before you is Kylo Ren’s bedroom. The bed is more comfortable looking than you would have thought, though definitely spartan. Fewer razor sharp edges and pointed corners than you expected. Black, though. Almost entirely black. A peek of red from the sheets catches your eye and brings a smirk to your face. The man’s got a wild streak after all. You imagine how it would feel in your hands. On your skin. 

Just like the sitting room, the far wall is a window. You’re drawn again to the vastness of space. You’ve never seen open space like this. It’s beautiful. Kylo Ren is staring out at it as well.

He clears his throat. “You came,” he says, with only the slightest tinge of surprise in his voice. “I see General Hux delivered my request.”

_ A General? _ That surprises you. Maybe he couldn’t trust anyone else with his dirty little secret (you). Or it  _ was _ a power play. A big one. Asking a General to go fetch your awkward sadist mistress? He must so highly of himself to use the military forces under his command in such a way. You feel a twinge in your belly.  _ He has so much power and he wants you to _ … You know you’re blushing.

You realize suddenly you don’t know where to start. You’d been playing this scene over and over in your head for the last hours but he always made the first move. Or you started… in the middle of things. And when left to your own devices things kept turning… well… dark. And you were pretty sure that wasn’t exactly what you’d been summoned for. This was real though. This was you, standing in Kylo Ren’s chambers, staring him dead in the eye from several meters away with no idea how to close the distance between you.

He breaks the standoff by turning, his back to you, his eyes intently watching the dark of empty space out the window. Without his eyes on you, you feel colder. Like a moth to a flame you want to fling yourself towards him. But you also know what he wants you to do. What you both want you to do. You know how to get it. 

You take a deep breath, let go of your inhibitions and let your racing heart and your adrenaline do the rest. “Take off the cloak,” you say to him. He doesn’t move for a second, but you can hear his breathing quicken. 

He reaches up and fingers a clasp. The cloak falls to the floor, and you take stock of his body again. Tall, lithe - the protective gear looks almost unnecessary. Why does someone who’s most powerful asset is his mind need to armor himself until he’s unrecognizable as himself, or even as human? You realize you may have answered your own question.

“And the shirt,” you say, trying not to let your voice crack. He lifts it above his head, more tenderly than last night. You see the reason he’s gingerly moving soon enough. His shoulders are covered in fresh cuts. Uniform. Lined. Self-inflicted. You want to ask what has happened. You know you can’t.

“And now the belt,” you say. You watch his legs shift, and his fingers move faster this time. He turns to face you. 

“I didn’t say you could turn around, Ren,” you hiss.

He snaps back to face the window. The closest star’s light has moved behind the ship now, and you can see his reflection in the dark of the glass window. He’s smirking. The cocky little bastard is smirking. 

You move quickly, taking only two long strides before you’re on him, your hand reaching up and grabbing a fistful of hair that you pull back, hard. Something between a yelp and a moan escapes his lips. You whisper into his ear, with malice. “You didn’t bring me here to  _ amuse you _ , Ren.”

His smirk has faded, but you grip his hair harder. It feels soft in your hands. He isn’t resisting. “You may be a leader of men, but here, with me,” you rasp, “you are nothing. You are less than nothing. You will lick my boot and you will thank me for the privilege.”  _ You cannot believe these words are coming out of your mouth but it feels… right. _ “Is that clear, Knight of Ren? You spit out his title like it’s an insult.

“Yes,” he croaks.

You give his hair another swift tug. He winces. You release his hair with your right and roughly grab his chin with your left, forcing him to look you in the eye. “Yes ma’am,” you correct.

“Yes ma’am,” he repeats.

“I can tell you are still in need of a lot of training ‘Master’ Ren.”

“I am, ma’am,” he says.

Good, you think to yourself. And he hasn’t killed you yet. The ache between your legs is demanding an increasingly larger amount of your attention, but you’re just getting started.

“Strip down to your underclothes and sit on the edge of the bed,” you tell him. You watch him carefully as he moves wordlessly through the room, letting the rest of his clothes drop where they come off of him. When he’s stepped out of his pants, you do your best to hide your interest. First Order standard issue undergarments are surprisingly sleek, and he looks toned and sinewy in his black briefs. He finally sits, on the edge of the bed. His hands rest clasped in his lap. He finally looks up to see you taking stock of him. 

You  watch him watching you, his eyes searching yours for some sort of approval. He hasn’t earned it yet. You see a look of puzzlement cross his face as you move out the door and back into the sitting room where you’ve left your things. You pull something out of your bag and return with it well hidden behind your back. You may be semi-captive here, but you’re still a resourceful scavenger when you need to be.

You walk up to Kylo Ren, Commander of the First Order, and you watch his pupils dilate and eyes widen as you pull the sparring baton from behind your back. It’s lightweight - and made of wood - not much more than a twig with handle. You’d stolen it from the armory adjacent to the training facility with a giddy excitement, allowing yourself to imagine the welts you could leave on his pale flesh with it. 

You hold it out, the tip of it lifting his chin up so he’s looking you in the eye.  Without breaking his eye contact, you flick your wrist down and the switch lashes across his naked thighs. He flinches. “Don’t move,” you whisper into his ear, letting your lips brush against his earlobe. You watch the welt form, a solid continuous line across his lap.

When you’re satisfied he’s going to cooperate, you sit next to him on the bed. He doesn’t twitch at all as you place your fingertips on his shoulder, delicately dragging them over the rows and rows of half-healed, uniform cuts. He turns, his eyes intently watching yours as you trace your fingers on his muscle. His lips part slightly, his eyes closing as he leans into the sensation. He seems to relax for just a moment before you dig your nails into his flesh and drag them down, reopening a few of the half-cut lines. 

He hisses through his teeth. Your belly flutters. You give him a reprimanding look and he presses his lips together in concentration. He has a distant look in his eyes but you’ve never felt more present in a moment than this.

Your hand fingers the switch again, and you see his body stiffen. You think you see the bulge in his briefs twitching; you want so badly to rip them off and free his cock and take it deep into your mouth but that’s not a distraction for now. You try to file the memory away for later. He follows your gaze and his face flushes a bit. He is not accustomed to vulnerability like this, you can tell. You can watch the redness move down to his neck and chest, spreading like ink in water.  Seeing his body involuntarily react to you makes you feel powerful. Far more powerful than him following your orders. Actions can lie. Bodies can’t. You’re starting to wonder if you have the self control to do this without trying to fuck his brains out. But you have to chase this feeling. You can always take care of yourself later. Even if torturing him is, in a way, torturing yourself.

But maybe you do want to push it a little.

You move closer to him, and use the baton to edge him backwards by the chest so he’s laying down on the bed. You place one knee on either side of his hips, straddling him, but careful not to lower yourself onto his lap. You can feel every inch of electricity between your bodies. Your eyes are locked on his, daring him to react. He stays stone faced, like he’s calculating troop movements. Emotionless. Questioning. You are just starting to wonder if this was a huge miscalculation when you feel his hand move up your thigh, lightly. 

Inside, you’re overjoyed at this miniscule sign of libidinous humanity, but in a flash, the back of your right hand screams down and slaps him across the face. His face turns, the recoil knocking a bit of spittle out of his mouth and onto the sheets. He stays turned for a minute, staring off into the middle distance to your right. Then he turns back and meets your gaze. 

“Again,” he says. “Harder.” He’s taken the bait and you’re not going to waste this opportunity. But first, you pin his wrists under each of your knees.

There’s a flutter in your chest before you raise your left hand this time and bring it down with your weight behind it. It hits his cheek with a satisfying crack. He gasps. You’re smiling, you think, but your entire body feels like it’s tingling. He opens his mouth to say again but you are already in motion, coming down with all your might behind it this time. It hits him so hard he grunts. Before you can know what you’re doing you realize you’re digging your nails into the open cuts on his shoulders and he’s writhing underneath you. He hadn’t been able to brace for that one. You claw at them, opening the old wounds and tearing new lines. Your own mark on him. 

And then your hand that you hit him with is on his throat right above that beautifully protruding adam’s apple and you’re watching his face turn redder and redder but you’ve pinned his wrist and his eyes are starting to water and you think this is it. I could be a hero of the Resistance if I just held him here until he stopped fighting back. He didn’t seem too powerful here, beneath you. As you’re watching the light flicker in his eyes, but then you’re overwhelmed. There’s a deafening roar - a earsplitting rumble, and you’re flung backwards, like you’ve been slammed in the stomach by a speeder. Your back hits the wall behind you and the air is knocked out of your lungs and now you’re the one desperate for air.  You find your body naturally curling up into a ball, your hands around your waist thinking  _ this is it. This is how I die. _ You think you must black out for a moment because suddenly Kylo Ren is leaning over you on the ground and offering a hand to help you up and he’s smirking with a bloody lip.  _ Son of a bitch. _


	5. Racked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It suddenly occurs to you to be scared. You just, to an outside observer, tried to murder Kylo Ren in his underwear while straddling him on a bed. You open your mouth to try to explain yourself, but you find your throat constricted. You sit up, and scramble backwards until your back is pressing against a wall. Kylo Ren has his arm extended towards you, his hand slowly making a fist. You can’t help but try to scream, but of course nothing comes out.

You pass in and out of consciousness for what you would guess is a few minutes, but for all you know could be hours. When you come to for the final time, your cheek pressed against the cold floor, your gaze staring at a set of boots. As your vision sharpens, you see there are legs in those boots. You follow the black clad shins up impossibly long to knees before you realize that it’s Kylo Ren. He’s fully dressed again and he’s staring at you from his bed. At least he doesn’t have the dumb helmet on.

“You didn’t think to pick me up off the floor?” you ask, your mouth dry. You try to lift yourself up only to find your whole body already sore. 

He stares down at you, unflinching and silent.

It suddenly occurs to you to be scared. You just, to an outside observer, tried to murder Kylo Ren in his underwear while straddling him on a bed. You open your mouth to try to explain yourself, but you find your throat constricted. You sit up, and scramble backwards until your back is pressing against a wall. Kylo Ren has his arm extended towards you, his hand slowly making a fist. You can’t help but try to scream, but of course nothing comes out.

And just as quickly, he releases his fist and your airways are open again and you’re gasping for air.

“You should know,” he says, pointedly, “I could kill you.” 

_ No shit. _ You manage to nod.

He continues. “What I just did…” he pauses, ou notice he’s staring at your mouth when he speaks, “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just stare. You’re trying to return your breathing to normal.

“So, you’re serving your purpose already.”

_ What? _ You nod your head again. Suddenly getting out of here seems like the most important thing in the world. You push your hands into the floor and rise your aching body to your feet. You wish you could walk through walls. You wish you could run so fast you’d run off the ship. You wish you’d never come here.

Kylo Ren says nothing as you quickly exit his chambers. Your footfalls are louder than you’d like as you move into a brisk run down the corridors. Your eyes are starting to well with tears - of pain, of confusion, of frustration. You miss home. You miss the time before you made huge mistakes that almost got you killed by members of the First Order.

You’re running so long you lose track of where you are and you find yourself ducking into what you imagine to be a supply closet where you can just have some feelings behind a closed door. The door has barely shut behind you as the first sob comes tumbling out, racking your body and contorting your face into the kinds of faces you only make when there’s no one around.

You slide down to the floor and when you open your eyes you find yourself staring at another pair of boots.  _ Shit.  _

You’re not in a supply closet, you realize, which would have been incredibly apparent to you immediately upon entry if your eyes hadn’t been cloudy with tears. Instead you’re in a small command-style room, a large black table taking up most of the space, but there’s a chair turned towards you and in it is a woman that’s taller than you’ve ever seen in your life. She’s strikingly beautiful - which you only say because that’s the word you’ve learned to apply to women - but really she’s handsome, when you look at  her closely. Powerful. Soft in all the ways that Kylo Ren is hard and jagged, light in the ways he is dark. 

“Are you lost?” she asks simply, her voice cold and matter of fact. Her accent is different than Ren’s. A little more dignified.

“I… I’m just having a bad day, okay,” you manage to choke out between jagged breaths.

“You’re not a soldier of the First Order,” she says in that same tone. 

You shake your head no.

She gets up from the table and walks to the far side of the room where she finds a small pitcher and pours you a glass of water. She walks back and offers you a hand up before handing you the glass. 

You eke out a feeble thank you and follow her to sit at the table. You clasp your hands tightly around the water glass, afraid to meet her eyes while you’re still a blubbery mess. You open your mouth to explain, “I was just….” you manage to get out before she puts a gentle hand on your wrist. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she says. 

“Thank you,” you sigh, relieved.

“Because I don’t care.”

Oh.

You look around the room now, trying to steady your breathing. You realize the table at which you sit is largely empty except for various data pads, each seemingly controlling the map projected above the table. It wasn’t any system that you recognized -- it didn’t even look like a complete map. But you were never a cartographer. The woman, thank the stars, busy herself with a smaller datapad onto which she seems to be making small adjustments to the map, furrowing her brow, and then adjusting again.

Now that you’re at eye level with her, her size is even more apparent. She must be as tall as Kylo Ren, who was already one of the tallest humans you’d ever seen. She’s at least an head higher than you, closer to two, you’d bet. She’s got bright blondewhite hair cropped close against her head. You’ve seen enough women on this ship to know that’s not just a regulation haircut - she’s chosen it. It screams efficiency. Her jaw is strong, her eyes intensely blue. Her eyebrows are light and slight, and her eyelashes blonde as well. 

She’s caught you staring, but you’ve also realized you’ve stopped shaking.

“Do you have a name?” she asks you. You can hear she doesn’t quite care the answer. 

You tell her. You leave out your surname because… Well you’re not sure why, but it seems like the right thing to do.

She nods. “I am Phasma. A captain here.”

“Do you work for Kylo Ren?” you ask, immediately regretting it. “Or General Hux?”  You idiot, you think to yourself, stick your entire foot into your mouth, why don’t you?

She smirks. “We are colleagues.” 

“Oh,” you say. You wonder if there’s a follow up question she’s going to ask. 

“I don’t know why you are here, but I’m not an imbecile,” she says, her jaw set and her eyes staring at her map. “You are the only civilian currently on board, and people have seen you interact almost exclusively with Commander Ren. I don’t know what he’s paying you…”

“He’s not paying me,” you interrupt. “And if he were, it would be none of your business.”

“You are mistaken on both counts. Commander Ren never takes anything without recompense - he is a dark man but holds his principles to justice closely. And it absolutely would be my business. Commander Ren serves the First Order with middling loyalty already - his loyalty cannot be further risked by an attachment - however economical - with an individual.”

Out of the pan and into the fire, you think. You start wondering the odds of walking out the door and finding General Hux there to tell you you looked unattractive or something. 

“Loyalty,” she continues, “and dedication to the righteousness of the cause, are the critical backbone of any great empire. The First Order’s work is not yet complete, and Ren is foolish to allow himself to be distracted.” She spits out the last word.

Great, you think, not only did agreeing to be Kylo Ren’s… whatever you are… get you nearly killed, but his colleagues hate you too. You rise from the table, unceremoniously wiping your tears on your sleeve. “Thank you for the water, Captain,” you say, setting your jaw, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m sure you’ll cross my path again,” she mutters as her eyes return to her work. 

Back on your own room, you turn out the lights and sit in the dark. Your skin crawls, on high alert. Your ears strain toward every noise in the hallway, every sound of hurried footfalls or authoritative barking. You think of what they’ll do when they inevitably come for you - will you kick and scream or face your execution with dignity? If Kylo Ren has you executed, will he do it himself? Will it be General Hux? Or Captain Phasma? Will  they even know why? And will your family even know what’s become of you? 

Hours pass, or at least you think they do, as you sit in the dark. The sound of your own breathing becomes deafening. But eventually the exhaustion from being thrown around like a rag doll, the vigilance, the uncontrolled sobbing, they get the best of you and at when you close your eyes again to listen - really listen - you drift off into dream.


	6. Floating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> t’s still pitch dark and the air feels heavy. You must have fallen asleep in your vigilance. You look to the time display at your bedside - it’s been just a few hours. Surely they would have come for you by now if they were going to. You let your muscles relax for a split second, only to pull them tightly back taut - you are far too sore to move so freely. You reach your hand to the back of your head right at the base of your skull where you feel a throbbing and a welt growing. You should probably go to the medic, but what would you say?

Kylo Ren is floating, alone in blackness punctuated by tiny specs of light. You watch him from a small port window. He’s dead, clearly, his lips are blue, there’s tiny bits of frost where the moisture from his skin has crystallized in the vacuum of space. His body drifts silently. You feel a sense of relief -- no longer will you have to cope with the uncertainty of your situation. 

That’s when you look down at your hands and you remember. You remember your hands struggling to grip his throat, his eyes rolling back, his fall into unconsciousness. You remember dragging his body, lighter than air, out to an airlock and pressing the release. You remember the look in his eyes as he’s sucked into the blackness.

_ No _ , you think,  _ I never would do that. This can’t be real _ . 

And then Kylo Ren opens his eyes. They are burning ice white, a stark contrast to their honey brown. And then a moment later they are bright red, crackling, like a short circuiting panel. His mouth turns to a snarl and he, somehow, propels himself forward to the airlock. His hand, burning hot, is beginning to melt through the glass of the porthole. 

Trembling, but more afraid of what will happen if you don’t open the door, you move your hand to the release and before you know it he’s inside, safe again, and his arms are around you in what at first seems like a fond embrace but you quickly realize his arms have turned to ropes - belts - tightening and it’s crushing you. You can distinctly hear your ribs begin to crack when you shoot up in bed, transported back to your quarters.

It’s still pitch dark and the air feels heavy. You must have fallen asleep in your vigilance. You look to the time display at your bedside - it’s been just a few hours. Surely they would have come for you by now if they were going to. You let your muscles relax for a split second, only to pull them tightly back taut - you are far too sore to move so freely. You reach your hand to the back of your head right at the base of your skull where you feel a throbbing and a welt growing. You should probably go to the medic, but what would you say? 

“Sorry, I was getting off on Kylo Ren slowly choking to death and he threw me across the room without touching me at all,” no, that probably wouldn’t fly.

But this was a First Order ship. Surely people injured themselves here all the time. You shook the idea from your mind. 

You let your thoughts escape your head and move your consciousness into the room. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize there’s something at the foot of your bed. You recoil back in shock, waiting for it to move, but it doesn’t.

You stare at it a moment, trying to focus your eyes but it’s still too dark. A spoken command lights the room again, and you can see it plainly now. It’s a pile of black clothing, folded neatly, and on top of it, two capsules of Symoxin and a pair of boots. 

Was this from Kylo Ren? It must be, you think, and then immediately -- oh god, he was here. He was here while you were sleeping and not only did  you not wake up but he… A wave of revulsion sweeps your body, and then a wave of relief. He could of killed you, but he didn’t. He’s left you a… gift?

You run your hands over the smooth fabric of the clothing folded there, gingerly lifting it up to examine it. It’s a long sleeve black tunic, exceptionally soft, in just your size. There are holes in the sleeves for your thumbs and the shoulders are cut out. You’ve seen some of the off-duty female troopers wearing things like this - I guess even Kylo Ren doesn’t have access to his own tailor. 

The boots are some sort of leather or synthetic. You smirk as you run your fingertips across the tops. Definitely real leather. You couldn’t venture a guess at what animal it once was, but you know enough to tell they look expensive. You pick up the symoxin and pop it in your mouth, throwing your head back carelessly and swallowing it without water. You close your eyes, waiting for the drug to take its course, taking a deep breath. You let your lungs fill until they feel they might burst before letting it out slowly. You let your breath fall into a steady rhythm, trying to reclaim control over your own nervous system after hours of tension. 

Your mind starts to wander away from your breathing and back to Kylo Ren. He wants you, you think. He  _ needs _ you. What else is this gift for, if not an apology? Okay, maybe not an apology but an offer of peace? “Hey, it’s okay you strangled me, please come back beat me up some more.” You smile, pleased with yourself and allow yourself to lay back again on the bed, a little more comfortably this time. You watch the pulsing of a landing strip light out the window and match your breath to it. Moments later, you’ve let the symoxin take you back, this time, into a dreamless sleep.

 

The next morning - proper morning, you realize, seems to come far later than you would have expected. You rub the sleep from your eyes with your palms, hard, and try to ease into moving again. You’re still sore, but the welt on the back of your head seems to have reduced to a small, tight egg. 

You make your way in to wash up, splashing cold water over your face, staring yourself dead in the eye in the mirror. You look tired, but strong. You search your eyes, trying to find an answer to why you’re here. You’re met with your own silence. Turning the water on and stepping into the stall, you will your mind blank and you’re amazed that it works. By the time you’ve stepped out of the refresher you’re feeling mostly back to your old self, letting your muscles be soothed by the hot water (still such a luxury), and your stomach is growling loudly. 

You step back into the bed chamber and dress yourself in your new Kylo Ren-approved outfit. Even the boots fit perfectly, which only distresses you slightly - _ if he can read minds did he read my shoe size as well? _

You pull your hair into a tight ponytail and check the time. It’s running on the later side of the morning meal, so you’re hoping you won’t run into many folks in the canteen. Sure enough, when you arrive, there’s only a handful of staff remaining, cleaning up from the breakfast rush. There’s not a lot of food left to choose from, but you manage to keep yourself from scarfing down 3 rations worth of food in a single swallow. At least no one’s watching you eat like an animal. 

By the time you’ve finished your last bite you really are the last person in the canteen. And that’s when Kylo Ren darkens the doorway.

As you watch him approach you realize he doesn’t walk, he stalks - moving with conviction and determination - not rushed, but certainly an unstoppable force barrelling through. You think, at least, to wipe your mouth before he is close enough to see the mess you’ve made in your starvation.

His mask gazes down at you. You know he is taller than most of the human men you’ve known but he still towers above you as you’re seated. You think to stand. 

You smirk; he’s still very obviously looking down at you. You can feel his eyes boring into you, even behind the mask. “I see you received my gift,” he says. You feel like you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice through the vocoder.

You nod, suddenly self conscious of every inch of clothing and how it hugs your body. You instinctively cross your arms over your chest.

“My quarters, tonight,” he says, matter of factly. Apparently he’s already rescinded on his promise not to order you around. But perhaps he can see it on your face, because he adds “Please?” at the end, with only the slightest upturn of his voice to indicate the request.

You look around again, searching to see for sure  if there are any staff members left in the canteen. It’s still empty. He senses your hesitation and adds “if you’re concerned about your safety - you won’t catch me off guard again.” He clenches a fist at his side and quickly releases it. “It was a momentary lapse in control.”

Despite it all, you believe him. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he turns on his heels and marches out as quickly as he walked in.


	7. Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You press your lips together, wondering if you should say anything. “You feel…. Pity,” he says, “It is unnecessary.”

You are standing again in front of Kylo Ren. He’s been considerate enough to remove his mask, but otherwise is fully dressed in the dim light of his quarters. You almost ask if he forgot your appointment. He must catch you staring pointedly at his clothing because he begins to remove it. He uses his feet to kick off his boots, not breaking eye contact while as he undresses. His look is pliant. Sated. When he lifts his shirt above his head, you’re granted a momentary break from his stare where your gaze travels to his chest. It’s much, much worse than it was before.

Kylo Ren’s pectorals are covered in burns. Clean, straight parallel lines of burns, with barely an inch of untouched skin between them. He feels you looking at them, and for a moment, you feel him inside your head. 

He senses your empathy. He scowls. “Don’t feel sorry for me. This is crucial to my training - control over my body and mind in a way that so few have ever had. I couldn’t become what I’m meant to be without this,” he gestures to his chest, only slightly flinching with the movement, “or without this,” and he gestures to you.

You press your lips together, wondering if you should say anything. “You feel…. Pity,” he says, “It is unnecessary.” 

You open your mouth to correct him, and he speaks first. “Don’t try to deny it. I can feel it.” 

“Feeling something and allowing that feeling to affect your behavior -- those are two different things,” you say, “you of all people should know that.”

He looks a bit shocked. “Fine,” he says. He tugs his pants off without ceremony, and folds them and sets them aside. 

You could not feel any more awkward. Luckily, you can at least fake control. “Turn around,” you say, He gives you one last significant look, letting his gaze linger on yours before he turns. You pull from your pocket a bit of bandage you stole from the medic bay. You approach his back slowly, trying not to get distracted by his broad shoulders, watching the slight rise and fall as he breathes, the simultaneous roughness and softness of skin marred by battle wounds. You can see his sinews trembling - small movements he probably doesn’t even know he’s making. Suddenly you realize you’re not going to be able to do this gracefully, considering just how much taller than you he is. You improvise.

“Kneel” you say. You think you hear half of amused grunt from him, but he lowers himself to the floor. And there, though he facing away from you, Kylo Ren, commander of the first order, is kneeling for you.

You take the bandage and gently wrap it around his eyes, tying it as best you can in a knot behind his head. You try not to tangle his hair - surprisingly soft - but tighten it enough to stay in place. You tested it on yourself earlier - while the bandage is translucent, he’s unlikely to be able to make out much of anything in this dim light.

You reach down, and you take his hand in yours. His rough hands and fingers against yours makes your hand feel impossibly small. You lead him over to the bed, reveling in his uncertain and hesitant movements. The vulnerability excites you. When he’s standing in front of it, you push him hard forward onto the bed, and try to read his face as he realizes he’s bent over the side of it with his ass in the air. 

You imagine the next sensation Kylo Ren must feel would be familiar and yet out of place as you produce a knife from your pocket and run the tip of the blade up the back of his thigh. You’re careful not to pierce or cut, but you want to be sure he knows what it is before...

You see his hands tighten into fists on the sheets, clutching them in anticipation.

With one quick movement, you slide the blade through the leg of his briefs and cut through them like air. Another quick movement and they’re off him, in pieces on the floor. You see his muscles tense a bit, then release as he hears the blade go back in its sheath and onto your belt. You suspect that if he wanted he could jump right back into your head and see through your own eyes, but he doesn’t. If he did, he’d see you staring at his naked flesh, small goosebumps on his cheeks. You let yourself smile as you return to the bag you’ve brought with you, fetching a makeshift paddle you’ve fashioned from a cutting board in the canteen. You quietly congratulate yourself for your resourcefulness while wondering at what point Kylo Ren can start procuring torture toys for you.

The cracking sound the paddle makes the first time it hits his bare ass is almost deafening, and you hear a tiny grunt escape his lips and his hands tighten around the sheets again. You wheel back for another smack, and another, and another. You watch his arch back in pleasure and pain, watch his skin turn red and raw, watch him until your arm is tired and you’re both breathing heavily. He senses his punishment is over and collapses forward. He turns his head to the side now, his lips slightly parted as he catches his breath. His face and neck reddened, one thick vein in his neck protruding. You can feel his vitality, his pulse. You can see the bruising where you choked him. It makes you feel ashamed… and excited at the same time.

“I didn’t say you could rest, Ren,” you say. His muscles tense again, and his blindfolded face turns in your direction. “Turn and face me.” 

Kylo Ren stands back up to his full height, and even with his back to you and his eyes blindfolded he towers over you. But he shifts his legs, and he turns around.

For the first time, you get a full look at Kylo Ren’s cock. With some sense of decorum scolds you for being impolite, but you can’t help but look. He’s hard, and from the looks of it has been for a while, as his head glistens with a few beads dripping down the tip.  Kylo turns his blindfolded gaze to you and you feel him this time, in your head. Watching himself through you. His dick twitches in response.

“Pathetic,” you say “I thought you were working on self, control,” you say as disdainfully as you can. “Get out of my head,” you add. Amazingly, he does almost immediately. 

“I don’t always do that on purpose,” he says, and you’re struck by the honesty in his voice. You believe him 

You are also, however, relieved to be alone again because all you can think of is dropping to your knees in front of him and taking the whole of his length into your mouth until he comes down your throat. Instead, you swallow hard and allow yourself to let your hand drift down into your leggings and find your own arousal. He can’t see you, after all, there’s nothing to say you can’t have a little fun as well. You sit down on a nearby couch ad allow your hands to wander. “Spit on your hand and touch yourself,” you say, almost without thinking. He obeys, his quickness betraying his eagerness. 

He wraps his fingers around his length with surprising gentleness and you watch as he begins to slowly pump into his hand, his long fingers squeezing tighter as he approaches the head as he runs his thumb over the tip. A few strokes and he seems to be lost in reverie, he bites his lower lip and leans his head back so his blindfolded eyes face the ceiling. 

Your own hands instinctively try to match pace with his, your two fingers gliding over your clit and teasing your entrance. Your other hand reaches up to clutch your breast and for a moment you lose yourself and close your eyes, listening to the slick sounds of Kylo’s movement just feet away from you, his breathing labored, almost guttural groans emanating from him.

You cum unexpectedly, the orgasm washing over you, your abs clenching, rocking you forward in the chair. You manage to keep yourself from crying out but a squeak slips out and Kylo’s head snaps in your direction. Shit. you think. Not exactly a power play on your part, masturbating to his own jerking off. Suddenly he’s in your head again, his mind with you, watching his hand pump furiously at his own cock, the aftershocks of your orgasm rippling through your body. Kylo Ren, across the room, lets out a deep, reverberating moan and you watch as his dick spurts hot and his body convulses. His strokes slow down down, becoming gentler as he rides his own orgasm and yours from within you.

_ Get out of my head _ , you think at his presence in you. You feel him leave and watch as his cock softens across the room. As if snapped from a daze, you see his awareness return to his face, his jaw tightening, twitching. He lets his hands fall to his side. 

Still reeling from your own release, you cross the distance between you, reach up, and slap him, hard, across the face. Surprised at your own daring, you grit your teeth and yank off his blindfold. You see his eyes open to the dim light. “I didn’t say you could cum, boy.” You see the flash of momentary panic cross his face as he looks genuinely and confoundingly guilty.

For a moment you feel bad, but there’s no turning back now. “On your hands and knees,” you growl at him and watch as he lowers himself again to the floor. You gesture at the dribblings of his cum on the floor. “You’ve made a mess, Ren. Clean it up.” 

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he pleads. 

You breath catches in your throat, you’re so shocked at the effect those words coming out of his mouth have on you. You raise a boot and rest it on his back, pushing him until his face is almost in the puddle. 

You toss him the blindfold-bandage to use as a rag and allow yourself to sink back into the couch as he begins his chore. 


End file.
